Chapter Text
Gwen paces across her dance hall floor, hands smoothing down the sides of her leotard. Every few moments, she pauses, chancing an anxious glance out the window at the darkened, busy street below.
Distant shrieks of terror and thundering metallic crashes echo from up the block. According to a quick Google search, Rhino’s got his titanium tighty-whities in a twist again, terrorizing the area around the Fisk Tower. Hopefully Spider-Man gets there soon if he isn’t already.
But that’s just Friday afternoon in New York for you.
In stark contrast to herself, Billie, her last student of the day sits idly in a chair. Her dance bag in her lap and her little legs, too short to reach the floor, swinging contentedly back and forth.
She’s a sweet kid, a pleasure to have in class. But they’ve been here for almost an hour waiting for someone to pick her up and, especially given the circumstances, Gwen can’t leave until she does.
This tutoring gig was supposed to keep her in the studio and away from distractions, while helping to make a little money on the side. Not eat up precious time.
“Billie, is your mom coming to get you?”
”No,” Billie shakes her head, “she's working the tombstone shift at the hospital tonight, so she’s sleeping.”
Gwen blinks. “The what?”
“The tombstone shift,” Billie says again. ”She won’t come home until super late.”
Oh , Gwen nods. Graveyard shift . “Then who's picking you up today?”
“My brother.”
Gwen spares another glance out the window as a cavalry of cop cars wail down the street, sirens flashing red and blue.
“Are you sure he remembers?”
Billie nods resolutely, her little box braid bun bobbing atop her head. “He’ll come get me. He always does.”
She seems calm, which is good. At least one of them is. But Gwen doesn’t have time for this. Harry, her partner for the senior showcase, chose the absolute worst possible time to sprain his ankle, and now she has less than a week to find a new one before rehearsals begin.
She can still hear the police sirens screeching outside. They aren’t far, maybe a block or so away. Anyone driving down there is probably going to get caught in a traffic jam.
Gwen continues pacing.
“Ms. Stacy, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, forcing a smile. She wills herself to stand still. Don’t spook the kid. Though she’s gotten the impression she doesn’t scare easily. “I’ve just got some things on my mind.”
Billie tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, grown up stuff.” Gwen shrugs then tries for a more genuine, reassuring smile. “But you don’t need to worry.”
Billie frowns and for a moment, she has the eyes of a woman wise beyond her years. She pats the seat beside her. “Come sit. My mom says it’s good to talk about your feelings.”
That draws a chuckle out of Gwen as she obligingly sits down. “Your mom is a very smart lady.”
Billie nods again, patting her ballet instructor’s shoulder. “So tell me what’s on your mind, my dear,” she says in a little girl’s replica of a warm, motherly tone, most definitely mimicking someone at home.
Gwen isn’t sure about the ethics of confiding in a seven year old, but it couldn’t be any worse than pacing up a storm, worrying the poor girl for no good reason. “Well, I have a showcase coming up, but my partner injured his foot and now I have to find a new one.”
Instead of going quiet like she expected, Billie perks up in her seat. “My brother could be your partner!”
“Oh?” Gwen raises a brow. “Is he a dancer?”
“No, he’s a waiter at Mick’s. But he’s really fast and really strong. He could do those lifts that the big kids do. He does them with me all the time.”
Gwen gives a wry smile. “I think I might be a little heavier than you, Billie.”
“That’s okay,” Billie beams, undeterred. She spreads her hands out wide for emphasis. “He can carry a whole car with one hand!”
“Uh huh.”
Gwen never pinned Billie as one to spin tall tales. She seemed a little mature for that, but she’s still seven after all.
Perceptive too. The younger girl must see the skepticism in her face because she then squints and asks, “You don’t weigh more than a car do you, Ms. Stacy?”
A startled laugh bubbles its way out of Gwen’s chest. “I should hope not.”
But in that exact moment, a strong tremor ripples underneath the building, the walls creaking and shuddering like a house of cards.
Gwen rolls her eyes.
It’s worth a good laugh when it freaks out the tourists, but with the Brooklyn Bridge on one end of the skyline and Fisk Tower on the other, pseudo earth-quakes are hardly an uncommon occurrence.
Some insurance companies have begun a new subset of policies for resulting damages each time someone on the block has a new super collider, or what’s-it reactor, or particle-Nuform-goober-whatever it is this time-inator.
The walls shake for a brief moment more before the lights begin to flicker.
“Oh great,” Gwen mutters, knowing what comes next.
The room plunges into darkness, the floor illuminated only by the trace of street light coming through the window.
The academy building is old as balls and of course, as a low-priority, student-led class, administration stuck her in one of the crummy studios with a lighting system that probably hasn’t been looked at since 1973. And as such, it gives out every time there’s a bit of trouble up the street.
Beside her, Billie lets out a tiny whimper. It seems even the most brave-faced of seven year olds are still afraid of the dark.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Gwen tries to reassure the girl, fumbling around for her phone before switching on its flashlight. A small stream of light brightens up the path in front of them.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” she promises. “I’ll go turn it back on, okay? Stay here.”
Wandering out into the hall for a brief second, Gwen returns with a standing ladder which she props in the middle of the studio, climbing up to the rickety, old ceiling fan.
She twists and pulls and pokes, and after a brief moment of tinkering, the bulb buzzes back to life, the room awash with fluorescent light once more.
No sooner has she finished that when the studio door slams open with a bang.
“Sorry I’m late! Traffic was so bad, I—”
“Crap!”
Startled, Gwen loses her footing on the top rung, plummeting from the top of the ladder.
She braces for impact with the hardwood floor only to stop halfway, caught against a warm, solid form. Even though the door is ten feet from the light fixture.
“I told you!” Billie cheers gleefully from a safe distance away.
Gwen blinks and looks up at her rescuer.
A boy looms over her with dark curls and brown eyes deep with concern, a sheen of sweat glistening over his brow. She feels the quick rise and fall of his chest against her arm.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
Gwen gapes at him for a second longer as her brain attempts to compute the last couple of seconds. She should say thank you. Or maybe yell for making her fall in the first place.
But when she opens her mouth, what comes out instead is, “Why are you so sweaty?”
The boy’s brows furrow in confusion. “Huh? Oh.”
Hurriedly settling her down on her feet, he wipes his palms on his jeans. “I…uh, got stuck around 38th street and then the elevator jammed so I ran up the stairs. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” Gwen blinks, still gathering her bearings.
“You must be Ms. Stacy.” The boy steps back, politely extending a much dryer hand. “I’m Miles. Billie’s brother.”
Gwen takes it. “So I’ve heard.”
Being a performing arts student, she can’t help herself. “Is there by chance a jazz enthusiast in the family?”
“Yeah, a bit,” he grins good-naturedly, even though it occurs to her a moment too late, he’s probably heard that one a million times before. “Was my mom’s idea. Just don’t ask me to play the trumpet. I left that phase in middle school for a reason.”
Gwen smirks in response.
“Anyway,” he says “thanks for staying a little late with my sister. She’s really been enjoying your class.”
“Well, I’ve enjoyed having her here,’ she replies.
Miles turns to his sister. “Hey Billie, ready to go?”
“Mhmm.” She skips over to his side, dance bag in tow, and takes his hand. “I was telling Ms. Stacy, you could be her new partner for her showcase cause her other one hurt his foot.”
Miles tilts his head. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm. Cuz you can lift her. Like that time you lifted that car when you were—“
“Okay,” Miles laughs, dragging out the syllable as he wraps an arm around his sister’s shoulder, steering her toward the door. “Kids you know?” He says, flashing Gwen an apologetic smile. “She’s got the biggest imagination of anyone I know.”
Gwen nods in understanding.”She’s definitely a bright kid.”
“Well, good luck finding a partner, Ms. Stacy. C’mon, Billie.” Miles tugs on her hand ushering her out the door. “We’ve got a long walk home.”
“Bye Ms. Stacy!” Billie waves. “See you tomorrow.”
Gwen waves them off, relief settling on her shoulders. “Stay safe out there you two.”
Even with the inevitable traffic jam going on down there, walking home probably isn’t ideal. She hopes they aren’t headed in the direction of the Fisk Tower.
It’s only when they’re out of sight that it hits her. Wait, hadn’t he said something about getting stuck in traffic?